Collide (17 page)

I want to scream my protests, force Josh to admit what I already know. Numbness prevents any action, so I follow Josh and David to the car, mute.

You aren’t killers. Mom’s voice circles in my thoughts. Her words confirm every fear and acknowledge the truth I’ve been running from . . .

I am a killer.

The worst kind.

Night falls by the time we are checked into the motel in Union Springs, a few miles up the road from the house. Josh gets two rooms for us and orders pizza. The air is unusually cold, reflecting the chill in my mood. Goosebumps cascade over my skin with each passing breeze, causing a slight shudder. David opens the door to my room and tosses my backpack on the bed. He sets the key on the dresser before opening the adjoining room for Josh. He places his hand on the small of my back and moves me into the room. I collapse in the closest chair, still unable to speak.

“You should eat,” David says, nudging a piece of pizza in my direction.

I say nothing, looking ahead, my sight, blurred.

“Dakota.” Josh assumes his familiar brotherly tone. “You haven’t said anything since we left the safe house.”

Silent tension builds between us.

“Say something.” Josh reaches for my hand and I pull away, turning my back to them both.

“None of this is our fault,” David says. “This isn’t your fault.”

Yeah, right.

“At least eat something.” Josh shoves the pizza box in front of me. My traitorous stomach growls as my focus shifts from mindless oblivion to my hunger.

“Fine,” I mumble, grabbing a piece and shoving it into my mouth.

Satisfied that I’m at least fed, the boys go back to talking about the journal and the tape. Josh has listened to the tape three more times since leaving the house. David’s read and reread every page of the journal.

“I’m certain the house is being watched,” Josh says between bites.

“Then they know we’ve been there.”

“Maybe, but I doubt they know about the journal or the tape. They would have taken them if they’d found them first.”

David nods and inhales more food.

“Do you think they took Maya?” Even as I ask the question I know the answer—Maya’s fate is tied with mine. I just don’t know why. Or how.

“Probably. We didn’t find her body. There’s nothing in the news about her death.” Josh stares through me and I can almost hear the gears in his brain shifting. If anyone can figure out what’s really happening here, it’s Josh.

“Why would they take her but kill Mari? I don’t remember Maya being any stronger than Mari” David chews his lip, clearly struggling with his thoughts. “Why would they want any of us?”

“They want our power,” I say. “They’re gonna kill us, too.” My voice trails off as I take another bite of pizza. “Kill us or enlist us as assassins again.”

“You don’t know that we were ever actually used that way.” David’s voice is low, soothing.

“Don’t I?” I think of the dreams, the fragments of death and murder ever present in my thoughts. I reflect on the memories of hurting Josh and David. “I can’t speak for the two of you, but I am positive I was trained to kill. Certain.”

An awkward silence fills the space of my words as I wrestle with the knowledge that there is no happy ending to any of this. My mind again detaches and separates from the overwhelming emotions that bubble to the surface. I shift my gaze between the boys, paying little attention to the new conversation. Mom messed with our memories, uprooted our lives, and who knows what else. She did it to keep us safe, she’d said.

So much for that.

Unable to eat another bite and unwilling to talk, I excuse myself and go to my room, anxious to end the day and wake from the nightmare that’s become my life. I stumble to the bathroom and remove my clothes, washing them in the sink before climbing into the shower. The soap taunts me, reminding me of my little experiment in David’s bathroom. No way am I trying that again. In fact, I’m not sure I want to mess with any of my so-called abilities,
gifts
mom called them, now. If she was afraid of them enough to change my memories, maybe I should be as well.

The warm water washes away each thought. Within moments I’m myself again. Mom’s voice is no longer in my head. I am not obsessing over her words. I finish the shower, relishing in the momentary reprieve.

Exhaustion permeates my skin as I dress in sweats and a t-shirt and comb through my wet strands. I climb into bed, clicking the TV on. I’m not ready to face the dark now. Not after this week.

Knock-knock
. The sound jars me from my semi-conscious state.

“Dakota, let me in.” There is an unnerving insistence in David’s voice.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I open the door. I can’t handle another crisis. Not tonight.

“We need to talk. About us.”

Are you kidding me? Now? “What us?” I turn back to the bed, the door open.

David walks in and closes the door. His scent fills the room, and I react even though I don’t want to. “I need you,” he whispers. “I’ve always needed you.”

“You had me. And then you left.” I don’t have the energy to get into this with him. Not now.

“I wanted to protect you.”

Something in his words unleashes a cold fury. “I wish people would just stop
protecting
me. You, Josh, Mom. There’s no way any of you can protect me from . . . me!”

David’s eyes soften. “This isn’t your fault,” his voice is low and full of caring.

“You heard my mom. We were trained as assassins. Assassins, David. Just like in my visions and dreams.”

David furrows his brow. “You aren’t a killer.”

“Why, because you say so? Because Mom and Josh say I’m not? Sorry if that doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.” I exhale a tight breath and David steps closer, his hands covering mine.

I pull away from him. “Stop.”

David doesn’t listen. He grabs my waist and pulls me to him. His lips brush against mine and a fresh wave of chills tickle my skin.

“What are you doing?” I say as I push my hands against his chest, ignoring the feel of his muscles as they ripple under his t-shirt and the way my stomach clenches with his touch.

“Distracting you.” His lips are on mine again before I can protest.

I don’t pull back this time. Our bodies meld into each other. His greedy mouth nibbles mine. I need the strength his kisses offer, the promises.

The hope.

“You’re safe with me, Dakota.” His voice is ragged, his breath hot against my ear. Each word is followed by a string of kisses along my jaw, my neck. “Trust me.”

“I can’t,” I say, my voice breathless.

“You can.” His mouth meets mine again and I melt into his arms. Memories of our childhood—the secret promises we made and the innocent love we professed—surround me and I face a simple truth:

I do trust him.

More than I should.

THE ARCHITECT SAT ON HER PORCH, COUNTING THE STARS
. She didn’t bother cleaning up her staged house. What was the point? She wouldn’t be back. Not anytime soon, at least. The wind whipped around her, adding to the agitation she couldn’t escape. Everything was going according to plan, she had the others off balance. She would reenter their lives in the morning and convince them to go with her. Easy.

Then why was she so anxious?

She closed her eyes to quiet her thoughts. Several heartbeats passed before she was able to focus her mind. Her vision blackened as a singular idea consumed her thoughts.
Josh
. She pictured him sitting with her on the porch, the same concern she’d seen hours earlier still etched in his features. She asked him to find her. Rescue her, was more accurate, not that she was willing to admit her feelings to anyone else.

In her daydream, Josh took her hand in his. The warmth of his touch chased away the monsters created by her doubts. He, alone, calmed her. Made her whole. The Architect sucked in a tight breath as the fantasy continued to fill her mind.

She never noticed the other presence in her mind, never sensed the accusations and shifting priorities.

Where are the others? Why are they not yet here?

The unwelcome voice pulled her from her dreams instantly, leaving her with a knot in her stomach like she’d been thrown off a cliff, in an endless freefall she couldn’t predict. She sucked in the fantasy, Josh, everything, leaving only the deep loneliness she’d grown accustomed to over the past ten years.

Do I need to be worried
. His words carried no question, only a threat.

The Architect choked down the response poised on her lips. “No, sir,” she said aloud. “I serve the Order, as always.”

Hmm. I wonder
.

The thought filled her with dread. The Creator had threatened her before, but this felt different somehow. His doubt released a shaky breath from her. “I will get the others tomorrow and bring them to you as promised.”

As ordered
. His words brought home the truth louder than anything else he would say. The Creator was in charge of her. He would always be in charge.

Silence filled the gulf in her thoughts as the Creator left her mind and appeared in front of her. His eyes appeared cold in the vision, lifeless. His six-foot, five-inch figure towered over her. He pinned her with his cold stare, sizing her up like some newly discovered threat.

Your mission has changed. The Ninja is a threat
.

The Architect’s heart clenched at the mention of him.

What is your job, soldier?

Her mouth refused to form the words. The Creator had made her mission clear long ago. It was her entire purpose. Now that the order was given, she wasn’t at all certain she could do what was required.

Soldier? You’re with us or you’re against us.

The Architect grabbed her head as the Creator continued to pin her with his glare. Her thoughts emptied as images of her father’s death replaced every fantasy of Josh.

The Ninja is a threat. He betrays the Order. He betrays you.

She stared at the corpse filling her thoughts. Blood drained from his ears and nose. Tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t let his death pass, not after everything he had done for her, all of the sacrifices.

Her heart clenched again.

Eliminate all—

“Threats.” The finality in the Architect’s voice startled even her. She sealed off her mind, her intensity matching the Creator’s.

Good
, he said.
Good. Eliminate all threats.

“I serve the Order.”

Project Stargate 2.0

The Solomon Experiments

Dr. LeMercier’s Personal Journal –

November 5, 2002

Day 129:

The girl, the one they call the Architect, knows. Somehow she manipulated Tate into telling her everything. He’ll pay for that one day, once his usefulness is complete. For now, I must focus on neutralizing the threat the girl represents.

The girl came to me directly, telling me everything about her encounter with Tate and allowing me to confirm her story by invading her thoughts. She revealed herself to me completely, including her need for belonging, for my acceptance. Her willingness to do
anything
to ensure her position within the project. Perhaps there are uses for her beyond my original thoughts.